


Nothing if not patient

by Swordsandspindles



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, Geralt is an oblivious idiot, Idiots in Love, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Immortality, M/M, Post-Canon, they forgot to age Jaskier in the show now they can suffer the consequences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:09:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22532266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swordsandspindles/pseuds/Swordsandspindles
Summary: Jaskier the bard has become, quite obviously, immortal. The why and how of it are details that have escaped Geralt – until now.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 80
Kudos: 1757





	Nothing if not patient

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jeweledichneumon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeweledichneumon/gifts).



> With thanks to kat_fanfic for her lightning-fast beta work and editing and general AO3 help. <3
> 
> For my dearest myro / jeweledichneumon, for Yelling and Enablement.

It was roughly ten years later – ten years after the fall of Cintra, after he had found Ciri again, and after everything else that had happened next – when Geralt finally noticed something.

"Jaskier," he said to the bard, who was currently lounging on the grassy hill beside him, plucking the strings of his lute idly.

"How old are you?"

"Oh, wow, that's kind of a rude question, isn't it? I've never been great at counting, and neither was my dear mama. Oh gosh, don't glare at me so – I don't know, 27? 29? Let's say 27. Youthful, but experienced."

Geralt frowned down at him." _Youthful_. I've known you for at least twenty years. You haven't changed a day."

"I moisturise,” Jaskier sniffed. "Now listen to this, I'm not certain about the chorus."

xxx

"Yen," Geralt said, when they met again. This time around, they had both grown rather weary of each other, and had settled on a careful kind of truce. Neither of them had yelled or thrown any heavy objects yet, so Geralt counted the evening a success. "Have you noticed anything... strange about Jaskier?"

"You mean, apart from his astonishing ability to get himself into trouble, barely escaping from it, and then blaming you for everything?"

"Yes. No. I meant... anything unnatural? Supernatural. Magical?"

The Witcher, never a very gifted conversationalist, gestured vaguely.

"Geralt, I know how much you like him and I hate to disappoint you, but trust me, your boyfriend has the innate magical talent of a piece of mouldy bread."

"I don't like him," Geralt mumbled and dropped the subject.

xxx

"You're getting slow, old man," Ciri teased. 

They were sparring on the sandy river bank, as they had done every morning for the past two months. It was strange to think of this particular bit of river as _theirs_ , but Geralt did many strange things these days.  
"Or are you distracted?"

"Huh?" Geralt said, and the kid – who was by no means a child any longer – rolled her eyes at him and hit him with the flat side of her blunt training blade.

"Slow! Old!" she yelled and jumped aside as the Witcher made a grab for her. "I wish all your hair falls out!" she squeaked, giggling, as he chased her around the embankment.

"My second wish – eek – is for a slimy toad to crawl into your bed at night!"

He didn't learn what her third wish was, because he had caught up with her and threw the squirming woman, blade, armour, and all, into the river. Then he fled.

xxx 

"... and that's when she said: Well, mom, I bet _he_ would have wished for the same," Jaskier said with a sweeping gesture, spilling wine everywhere. 

Ciri broke out in hysterical, hiccupping laughter. Geralt, standing behind him, automatically rescued the jug from Jaskier's unsteady hands.

“And I said: I knew your grandfather when he was your age, young lady, and I can say with certainty, he absolutely did!”

Ciri grasped the edge of the table for balance and made faint wheezing noises.

“And that’s why the ballad about the djinn and the fair maiden is banned in Aedirn now.”

Ciri cackled.

Geralt stared at the bard, who was wiping his eyes and had turned around to retrieve the wine from him. It was then that the truth hit the Witcher like a ton of bricks. The jug slipped from his suddenly numb hands and shattered on the kitchen tiles, splattering wine and splinters everywhere. This time, no sharp, broken edges cut his arm. He found it strangely hard to breathe.

Ciri and Jaskier stopped giggling and blinked at him.

"Jaskier," he said slowly, frozen to the spot. "What are you still doing here?"

"Drinking your wine and entertaining your adoptive daughter with obscene stories?" the bard answered carefully. He looked up at Geralt in concern, suddenly sober. "She started it."

"No! I mean! Why do you keep following me around?" Geralt asked, flustered. He never got flustered.

"What?" Jaskier asked, confused.

Geralt made inarticulate noises of frustration and roughly pulled the bard up from the bench where he was slouching. He stared into his face, frowning, thoughts churning. He rifled through the hazy memories of an event almost twenty ago.

Jaskier grimaced slightly but made no move to free himself from Geralt’s grasp.

"The djinn, the fucking asshole of a bastard djinn," Geralt wheezed.

"You're starting to seriously freak me out now. Calm down. Breathe? Tell us what's wrong.", Jaskier said, soothingly patting Geralt's hands where they were still fisted in his shirt.

"And you're still around... because..."

"Dad!" Ciri hissed. She only called him _that_ when she got really, really mad at him. 

"I don't know what it is you're working through here, but can you maybe... stop?" Jaskier's voice trailed off slowly and he stared back into Geralt's baffled, intense expression. A faint blush started to crawl into his cheeks. He looked away again and let go of the Witcher’s wrists. 

Geralt continued to stare at him, his dark hair, the flushed skin of his face, which was not the face of a fifty year old man. He slowly leant closer and watched as the other man blushed deeper. He listened to his heartbeat skip and then start racing under his hands. 

"Fuck," he whispered, with emphasis, to no one in particular. Then he grabbed Jaskier around the neck with both hands, pulled him close and kissed him. 

The bard made a startled noise against his mouth. Then his body melted against Geralt’s and he kissed him back, kissed him back with a desperation that surprised Geralt. He also kissed him back with considerably more skill, which didn’t surprise Geralt, and somehow bothered him terribly. Jaskier had spent the last decades kissing other people, while Geralt had trudged on in obliviousness.

“Ew,” Ciri said, when they were done. She was hiding her burning face in her hands.

"I cannot believe that it took you twenty fucking years to notice... you _idiot_ ," Jaskier gasped. He had his arms firmly locked around Geralt’s neck, who didn’t complain.

"That fucking djinn, I thought... I thought...," Geralt shook his head and fell silent.

"You thought he had bound you to Yennefer, the sorceress who keeps trying to murder you in exceedingly creative ways each time you two meet,” Jaskier prompted.

Geralt groaned and tried to hide his face against Jaskier's neck. "I wished... I had wished for one person, just one _good_ person to love me, and stick around, and not fucking die on me," he admitted, slightly muffled.

"There you go," Jaskier said fondly, petting his hair. 

Geralt groaned again and moved his head to allow him better access. 

"You finally figured it out. Hi! That's me! You moron. You absolute pinnacle of oblivious Witcher stupidity. Well done. I have been nothing if not patient for twenty fucking years, I think I deserve some kind of medal for this travesty. Now kiss me again?"

"I’m really happy for you, but please get a room," Ciri groaned from behind her hands.

They ignored her.

**Author's Note:**

> Me: I don't write fanfic, I don't exactly have the time. I dwell happily on the gentle shores of the Fandom Ocean, at its most distant, harmless fringes, and am content to watch with mild and benevolent amusement those brave souls who frolic in its vast, dangerous depths. I am safe from the terrible things that lurk in the deep. I can leave these shores anytime I wish.
> 
> Also Me: Yells excitedly about a silly TV show for several weeks, gets addicted to the irl folk band of one of the character's actors, starts plotting a 10k story, makes an offhand comment about something that accidentally spawns ANOTHER STORY, writes it in one mad rush instead of doing Important Adult Things like showering and having breakfast.
> 
> Me, sweating: No no, I Do Not Write Fanfic...


End file.
